


Leave Love Bleeding

by My_Missing_H



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Missing_H/pseuds/My_Missing_H
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s looking at the drops of blood falling to the bathroom tile. Each one splashes with the noise of a thousand bombs in the midnight silent bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Love Bleeding

He’s looking at the drops of blood falling to the bathroom tile. Each one splashes with the noise of a thousand bombs in the midnight silent bathroom.

Covering his wrist he heads back to the room he shares with Jesse.

Who is out with Beca. Again.

But that’s not so bad, he can blast his music and ignore all the signs that he’s trying to fit in. The trash can full of wall decals that he just took down. The new clothes in his closet, ones that look suspiciously like Jesse’s because he has no real reference for how exactly “normal” people dress.

His wrist has stopped bleeding now. It’s kind of ironic considering there’s something about bleeding or blood or something coming out of his speakers. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s even listening to. Something he downloaded because hard rock appeals to his recent lack of excitement.

That’s a lack of emotional excitement for anyone who cares, because realistically he gets physically excited every time he sees his roommate take his shirt off, or hears him furiously masturbating after another date with Beca where she would say something about waiting until marriage.

A few months or so after ‘The Incident’; as he referred to it in his mind; any real emotional excitement that he got from talking to his roommate kinda faded.

Said incident was the night of the big acapella party where a too-drunk Jesse decided to come back to their shared dorm and proceed to pin Benji down onto his bed. Somewhere along the line clothes were removed, lips were locked, and Benji almost didn’t pick up Jesse whisper Beca’s name into his lips as they came together. Almost.

But that night just led down a slippery path of messy hand jobs and eventually flat out sex, but only on nights when they were both completely wasted. Jesse to overcome the closet door of his love for Beca, and Benji to forget that tomorrow he would wake up with a pang in his chest, and a serious ache in his lower abdomen that would send a shot of pleasure up his spine whenever he moved.

That slippery little path finally ended on the night of Finals when Jesse and Beca finally got together, pushing any real hope that he had straight out of the window, onto the street, and under the treads of a Hummer V2 driven by a few drunk douchebags.

He slips out of his thoughts when his speakers switch to some crap alternative love song just as Jesse walks in the door, slamming it behind him.

“Rough night then.” He doesn’t look up from his book. ‘Illusion in Mathematics, Mathematics in Illusion’, actually a pretty interesting read.

“Yeah, you could probably say that.” Jesse’s words are slurring a little bit. The dorm room wasn’t his first stop after his date.

“So really rough night then. Do you wanna talk about it, or do you wanna sit here in masculine silence which I’ve never understood, but that’s probably because I’m not normal.” He looks up to see Drunk Jesse swaying slightly standing next to his bed. He says Drunk Jesse in his head because Drunk Jesse is a different person than Normal Jesse. Drunk Jesse will fuck him mercilessly then kiss him softly before going back to his own bed. Normal Jesse is so ashamed about it that he tries to avoid all physical contact like its poison.

“I’m not really in the mood to talk, but not really in the mood for silence either. I’ll opt for Option C, because moaning doesn’t count as talking.” Benji’s book is out of his hands, and his lips are suddenly occupied.

And his hands react first, pushing Jesse halfway across the room. “Oh no, we aren’t starting this shit again.”

Jesse stumbles over to the bed. “Why not? I thought you loved it.” He looks down at his hands. “Honestly I thought you loved me.” The whispered words hang in the air for just a moment.

Benji stands up, knocking Jesse off of his bed. “That’s got nothing to do with it, you’re drunk as fuck, you probably finally found out that Beca’s been cheating on you, and now you just want to revenge fuck me, and I won’t put up with it!” He picks up his book, only to notice his wrist bleeding again. He knows Jesse noticed it too.

“Now I’m gonna go read somewhere else while you sober up a little bit.” But just as he opens the door, Jesse grabs his bleeding wrist and tugs him back. 

“No, you’re not allowed to leave. You’re not allowed to be sad, you’re not allowed to hate me when I love you.”

Benji’s bloody wrist slips free easily and if that isn’t the grossest thing he’s ever done, then he’d be pretty worried about himself. “That’s bullshit, you’re just saying shit to get laid and it won’t work on me.” He reaches for the door again, but Jesse shuts it and grabs his wrist again; this time the clean one.

“Even the drunkest version of me wouldn’t pull a lie like that because I know exactly how much it’d hurt you.” He pulls up Benji’s other wrist as evidence. His words aren’t slurring anymore. “What if I said I cared about you, would you believe me?”

“I don’t know, would I?” His snide comment makes Jesse let go of his wrist, but although he briefly considers leaving, he doesn’t.

“Well I thought I knew, but obviously I don’t know you anymore.” Jesse pushes his chest.

“Obviously not.” This time when he reaches for the door, he finds himself pinned against it with Jesse’s lips pressed softly on his.

“I love you, whether you’re the old Benji or the new one.”

The next morning he wakes up with a familiar ache in his lower body, but lacking the familiar pang in his chest. Maybe, he thinks, it has to do with the fact that he’s not alone in his own bed.


End file.
